McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. “Please, stay a while longer. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. " "I'll go with you," said Blueskin. Mere formality.
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