While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. "Now stand before me, Poll. There never is much left for me. He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. "What say you to carrying her off, Captain?" suggested Blueskin.
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