" "You hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters. Your glove will suffice. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society.
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