” She said. "Come out!" roared Quilt, looking into the aperture. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. So Monday, when I see one of the maids come out with a basket, for to go fetch summat for that other Frenchie—the female as I told you about, miss, as is forever coming and going with the nobs. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault.
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