“Please call me Carol. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. Why?" "I was just wondering. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. She held up the lamp.
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