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Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. Jack fell on his knees beside her. “I am afraid,” she answered, “that one’s friends can judge only of the externals, and the things which matter, the things inside are realized only by oneself— stop. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal.

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