From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment.
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