” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. Sheppard, in a voice of agony. Wood," said she, in the deep, hoarse accents of consumption; "and may God Almighty bless and reward you for your kindness! You were always the best of masters to my poor husband; and now you've proved the best of friends to his widow and orphan boy. Death belongs to God, young man. "I need not ask whether this is Mr.
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