“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. What a heat that news had wrought. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. Never had her father explained. Some of the meetings are wonderful! Such earnest, beautiful women! Such deepbrowed men!. She would lure him, as he was an easily tempted child predator who could even more easily be turned into prey. That night in his den he smoked many pipes. "Well, if you won't come, I shall help myself, and that's unsociable," pursued the speaker, evidently, from the noise he made, suiting the action to the word. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other.
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