The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. For all that, Ah Cum was forced to admit that his charge did not look dissipated. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity.
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