"By all means," rejoined Quilt. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you. "Well?" he whispered. " His demeanour was polished; his manners singularly affable and gentle; and he was remarkable, for the generosity of his temper. It's only right that his people should know where he is and what has happened to him.
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