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Montague Hill. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. They were looking for a guide. I am grateful, indeed I am. He woke up with a start and the alarm clock read 4:46 P. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. Perhaps because I don’t know. It must be somewhere hereabouts. “Are we interrupting anything?” “No!” Martin jumped slightly. I should like to have had you forgive me.
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