There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. She breathed deeply. He pulled away. Just this? Parbleu, did he think this was enough? She did not wish to marry him—at least, not just because he was an Englishman. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself.
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