She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. "Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt.
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