“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. ” She replied. Blueskin answered by dashing his head violently against the flagged floor. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. To-night she could have hugged both the old maids. But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further.
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