“We must go. As to the picture, I'll keep it myself, though, if you do go I shall need no memorial of you. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair.
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