“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. It was—in connection with this man Hill. McClintock's astonishment merged into a state of mild hypnosis. It’s—it’s a serious prohibition. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour.
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