” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. ” She pulled her dress back over her breasts, glad for the elastic that she had sewn in.
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