“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. “Girls. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her. 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.
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