Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Melusine felt the calloused hand grasp around hers. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Never mind. Blueskin, you are a true friend. A boy can forget his amatory troubles playing baseball; but a girl can't find any particular distraction in doing fancy work.
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