‘Monstrously unfair of you, Hilary. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. “Call me Cathy, John. “I don’t know.
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