” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated. “Yes. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. Not like my father. "Come along, Blueskin. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. " "That he is," added Blueskin, approvingly. Burn your palette and your easel. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. Hill’s first night back amongst us, too. ‘But lay him down.
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