“There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. ” “It cannot be!” “It is in the grimoires. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground.
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