He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. I do not blame you for the act. Pity he's ta'en to bad ways so airly. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for. .
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