For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. Most unsatisfactory. " "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. " "There isn't an angel in heaven, Ruth, purer or sweeter than you are. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. ’ ‘Eh? Why did you not say so, man?’ demanded Hilary crossly. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he.
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