"Set down the kid," roared Blueskin, savagely. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. “He’s got good taste, you know. But come in, dear. ‘Playing games to tease me, that’s all he can think of doing.
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