He did his best not to grin. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. It would not have been for her an anomaly to read a love story in which there were no kisses. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog.
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