The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. “Have you told anybody else?” Lucy asked. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent.
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