The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. "It is droll," he said. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. She screamed involuntarily—she had never in her life screamed before—and then she began to wriggle and fight like a frightened animal against the men who were holding her. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Hilary.
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