“Well, what is it?” “Montague Hill is recovering consciousness,” he said. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression. “I have the right of the man who loves you,” he declared. “He can’t be more than thirty. John knew better. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. I’ve more than twice your strength and at least ten times your cunning, when it’s needed.
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