” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays. ‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course. Only a son’s another story. But the young man with the orange tie remained in his place, disputing whether the body had not something or other which he called its legitimate claims. Well, I am Nigel Ennison’s sister!” “Oh!” Anna said.
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