“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. He was a handsome man, and Lucy could see the strong resemblance of John to him. The blaze, however, was sufficient to reveal to the thief-taker the features of his intended assassin. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. Mother and Son XI. It is just the aim I have had in view all the time.
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