"I don't see how I can improve it. Wood's famous 'prentice?" "What apprentice?" asked the stranger, in surprise. She opened her eyes. The Night-Cellar. "Set it down, I tell you," thundered Blueskin, "or I shall do it a mischief. Enjoy. Have you brought me a message from my sister? I understood, I believe, that she was seeing you last night. But a human being who is young and clean, as you are, is apt to ennoble—or explain away. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace.
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