On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. ‘You don’t even know what it means, do you?’ Melusine frowned. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down.
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