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“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. "Coming!—so is midnight—so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames. She began to look for beauty and discover it in unexpected aspects and places. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. . Then he could hear Hilary breathing beside him, and from outside the muted twittering of birds.
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