“I suppose Paris is very, very distracting. Why don’t you make sure before you rush out like that upon a stranger?” “You were with my wife,” Hill repeated sullenly. With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. . The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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