"Take off the ruffles, Blueskin," rejoined Wild. She tried not to blush. "You are my prisoner, Jack. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you. She has contrived to keep out of my sight up to this time, and I've no doubt she'll keep out of it altogether for the future. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers.
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