Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. . He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. Taking this for encouragement, her suitor proceeded still more extravagantly.
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