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” Manning tapped with his racket on the turf through some moments of silence. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. I had a perfect shoal of callers. In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you.
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