"Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. "That he couldn't choose any one so agreeable to me. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. Both carried packages of books and magazines.
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