That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. . Remember that he’s not at all a bad sort, and to speak frankly, he’s your salvation. Ann Veronica looked bright and a little elated, and she disregarded her father’s invitation to be seated. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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