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She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. I'm his lieutenant,—Lieutenant Blueskin. Let me have a word with him, and you may take all the money. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing.
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