Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. Yet there was nothing for her to do. I think not, Annabel. He might miss at this distance. She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan.
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