“The man is dangerous. The chair is in the veranda. How dreary it all looks. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. "Yes," answered the girl. The floor was strewn with screws, nails, fragments of wood and stone, and across the passage lay the heavy iron fillet. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her.
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