He was way out of her league and it was downright odd that he had obliged himself to talk to her, let alone walk her home. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. Remember what the conjuror said. Wood underwent this examination, Blueskin felt a small and trembling hand placed upon his own, and, turning at the summons, beheld a young female, whose features were partially concealed by a loo, or half mask, standing beside him. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR.
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