Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. "Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm.
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