" "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. Forthwith he presented his card. Her back arched slightly in response. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. She is very bright.
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