He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “Nevertheless,” Hill said doggedly, “I am here to speak to you alone. Perhaps you will explain the state of panic into which I seem to have thrown you. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair.
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