“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. This was Blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it.
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