I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. The life of a young girl is set about with prowling pitfalls.
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