" "Of course," rejoined Quilt, maliciously; "every thief is so. "Where am I?" asked Spurlock. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self.
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