While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. You are a detective?" "Yes. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. ” She looked thoughtfully into the fire.
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