The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. "All's over," muttered Jonathan. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. "Sir Rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, I could crush you with a breath.
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