“That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. Rummage, my boy, do. As O'Higgins signed the hotel register, his keen glance took in the latest signatures. “How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. Laughed at me, then.
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