"I am. ” “I am afraid I have not been very nice,” she said sadly. The game lasted until 7:13. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks.
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