The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. So, by way of gaining time, he resolved to question him further. ” He took them from her and read them. "As sure as one reasonably can be. 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. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting.
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