A sinister thought edged in. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. " Thames tried to answer her, but his voice failed him. He seemed to be. “I wrote it for you. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.
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