Gerald’s temper flared. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. As Gosse pushed her around it, she felt his hold about her of necessity loosen slightly. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. He'll be able to help us a little now. " "Only as a brother?" persisted Kneebone. ’ ‘Probably not.
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