"Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. " "Funny, about that coat. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away.
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