Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. And rather unscrupulous. She had traversed perhaps three bookshelves, passed across the door that must lead to the hall, turned the corner, and was just about to reach the fireplace when she abruptly became aware that something under her fingers had felt wrong. He also had Janine’s daughter, Traci, who he just couldn’t leave alone after she reached puberty, when she grew a small set of underdeveloped breasts. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. “I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future.
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