I thought every one had heard about it. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called—appropriately enough in this instance,—a wrap-rascal. He pulled away. It was a sickening process, and the sucking sound was sure to wake up Ray’s mother. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves.
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