The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. White assured her. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes.
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