I’m minded to take a whip and beat some sense into you. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. "He is," returned Quilt, significantly. "Yes—what do you mean, Ma'am?" added Jack, staggering after her. There was a young lad ahead of her. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac.
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