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"No, I shan't," replied Rachel, saucily. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. Wood hadn't struck me. Wild has done his business. Last night Mr. Gave me a purse, and told me to take both of ’em up to Harwich and put them on a packet for Holland.

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