” “Bring her—here,” Hill muttered. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. The period of repression was over. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. The chief of these was a figure of Liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me.
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