The entrance was concealed between two huge boulders within a clump of trees, and was now so overgrown that no one who did not know of its existence could ever hope to find it. Mrs. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. But he only went home again to Paddington. “So, since when does a grown man have to sneak behind the Laundromat to smoke a cigarette?” She asked 115 him. I don’t care what else there is in the world.
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