The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. "Look quick, Blueskin, and be cursed to you!" was growled in the deep tones of Jonathan Wild. He carries with him something that will mark him anywhere—the girl. She shot a sudden glance at him. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. ‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind.
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