Light the lantern. Montague Hill?” Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared.
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