Accordingly, on their presentation, Mr. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal.
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