‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe.
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