She is very bright. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. One night she apparently fell asleep.
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