Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. It'll be your turn to save mine next. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. Sometimes I take innocent lives.
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