This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. She got hysterical. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. Sir John once more looked around him. Loved his memory still, for all he knew.
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