The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. "No," replied Wild; "and I've only listened to your absurd proposal to see how far your insane attachment to this lad would carry you. "You are," replied Kneebone. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. Playing became a way of escape.
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