" "You'll never live to see that day," cried Blueskin, fixing a menacing look upon him. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. 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. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. . "Mr.
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