Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. ” “The only Montague Hill I ever knew,” Annabel said slowly, “is dead. Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. It runs about gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers.
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