Mrs. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. “Nevertheless,” Hill said doggedly, “I am here to speak to you alone.
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