I went to the theatre that night. “Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal.
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