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Montague Hill. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. A shiver slid down inside her. Can you inform us whence it came?" "I should think so. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. There’s no logic in these things. Brendon and I are great chums,” he went on nervously.
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