Chapter XXIX MONTAGUE HILL PLAYS THE GAME The man opened his eyes and looked curiously about him. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. “I must repeat,” Sir John said, “that I much regret disturbing you at such an unseemly hour. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. He may die. .
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