For all that, it is folly. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. E. Melusine started back, blinking. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. She too had seen. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. Without Jack, it was certain that she faced danger if she went outside Golden Square.
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