‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. He looked at her guiltily. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. ‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor.
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