“Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor.
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