"You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. She had been careless. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. I don’t want you to be sad. On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door of the Well Hole ajar. Thanks. “She finds lying up so much very irksome.
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