“How old are you?” “Sixteen. " He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. But you have not finished surely. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. Then he rallied, smiling a little. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast.
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