Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. Then she went in and up-stairs, hesitated on the landing, and finally, a little breathless and with an air of great dignity, opened the door and walked into Ann Veronica’s room. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs.
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