"He is," returned Quilt, significantly. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. I came to the Beck’s house. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. There was hope for me then. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study.
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