In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. I always wondered why he bought my mother's pearls so readily. You never can tell. Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. “But that’s quite different,” replied Anna. His blood would be sweet with it. “Who can tell?” she said.
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