” He threw open the door of the sitting-room and switched on the electric light. He raised her to a sitting position. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. Taber returning. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. I’ve had the rarest luck and fallen on my feet. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. Now there is none.
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