While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. She repeated phrases of Mrs. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. “Well, I do. "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street.
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