Montague Hill. When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr. He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. "What's that?" asked Wild. ‘I thought as how it couldn’t do no harm, and as it turns out, it done me a bit of good.
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