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“If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table.
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