There it was—to be borrowed. "Come out!" roared Quilt, looking into the aperture. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. “Do you like my dress?” “Yes, the dress is beautiful, but you are much more beautiful than any dress. "Bring him out, Quilt.
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