“I did,” Anna answered. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. ‘So that’s true, is it?’ ‘Certainly it is true,’ Melusine said, opening her eyes wide. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label.
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