There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. ‘Not at all ladylike. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. 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. ’ She shook her head sadly. . Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. .
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