"What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. "You will find her new. She approached this field with her usual liveliness of apprehension.
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