"You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. " "It's a queer girl.
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