Around her neck was a little gold chain. She struggled fiercely not to give way. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. The blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, Blueskin sprang upon him.
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