Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. “For no other reason than you talk too much. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. "She's the most beautiful creature you ever set eyes on," said the doctor, warmly. I can smell you. " "One word before I go," urged Blueskin. But it's an odd case.
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