Alarmed by the noise of the scuffle, Quilt and Sharples rushed to the assistance of their comrade. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. She twanged the catgut under her fingers.
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