’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. " "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world.
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