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He turned, expecting to see his wife. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. “You’re so cute. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point.
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