They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive.
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