Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. "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. ’ ‘I find that difficult to believe,’ snapped the general, jerking to and fro as his agitation mounted. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas.
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