"Mr. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. My will never faltered. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. Due to play hockey. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue.
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