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It was Blueskin. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. “Goodnight. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. Then a ride to London on horseback. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare.
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