Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. She turned her head away sharply. He took her fingers and lifted his eyes to hers. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. They mean something.
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