“I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. "The danger's past," whispered Bess. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. "So the wheelman told you? I've always spoken it, though I can neither read nor write it.
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