“You seem to forget that my sister is—married. ” The note of his own voice exasperated him. She was fine and tender. It’s an emerald. "Stop!" groaned Blueskin. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life.
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