" "Stop!" interposed Edgeworth Bess; "Mr. ” “It is odd that this man at the hospital should call himself Meysey Hill,” she remarked. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. You never can tell.
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