“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. Such freedoms from such people were not to be endured. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. Sheppard, distractedly.
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