” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser. " "You may go, and welcome, Madam!" rejoined Kneebone, spitefully. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes.
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