He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. “Have you ever been to the opera, Ann Veronica?” said Ramage. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal.
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