’ ‘Don’t tell me,’ exploded his second-in-command. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. \"I guess so. ” Annabel shivered a little and looked around her.
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