He figures them out, though. She almost sprang to her feet. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. 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. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. She tipped his mouth towards her own and kissed him. We felt like thieves.
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