After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. Hill again—alive. He was fast rising to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. Nor Jacques. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. It jars with all my ideas. But most of all, I wanted to love. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. "You'll feel better after it.
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