Montague Hill is. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly.
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