“How’s the star?” John’s father asked. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it.
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