"What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. The smell assaulted them even before they entered the restaurant, greasy and savory. People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation.
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