Her head snapped back as he grabbed her by the hair. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. She is setting out for Hartford, Connecticut. ‘I know just what he was doing. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. Ann Veronica was overcome by this amount of emotion. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish.
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