" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. Of course, I can't promise you the job definitely.
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