“Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. So he bring me to see this Suzanne, who were staying at an inn nearby. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. You hear what I say, Quilt?" he added, looking at Jack. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting.
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