“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. I can be that man, the one I know you want. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast. ’ It had not before occurred to him, but this realisation fuelled the general’s growing conviction that he was being imposed upon in some way. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. " "Mother!" cried Jack, in a broken voice.
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