“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. He struck out from the shoulder, and the man measured his length upon the pavement. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it.
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