The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. A small voice greeted her, hissing. I don’t care! I’m glad I did. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life.
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