F. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. Darrell, however, rose again instantly; and though mortally wounded, made a desperate effort to regain the boat. "His shin may need rubbing. There is no further hope. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. They rose as she approached.
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