White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. . She felt she was bound in honor to tell the whole affair to Manning sooner or later. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. He leaned forward to embrace her. It was Blueskin.
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