She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. Now, you know where he is bound. The dusky obscurity of the room was twice welcome. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. “I say!” he cried.
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