My wife—killed me. Laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. "Shall I fetch the light, Captain?" whispered Blueskin. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. And if I hadn't been thirsty, that poor boob would have made a sure getaway and left James Boyle high and dry among the moth-balls! Oh, the old dome works once every so often.
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