“Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. I can help you to both,—nay, I will help you to both, if you do not interfere with my plans. This man’s name is Montague Hill. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths.
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