‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said slowly. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. I swear it. And if I don’t, I go mad. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently.
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