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It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. As O'Higgins signed the hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures. “It is unimportant,” she said. ” “Eh?” “I’ve forgotten something. It’s the public entrance. “I think,” he said, “that some one ought to warn her. A cup of lies. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him.
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