You hear what I say, Quilt?" he added, looking at Jack. ’ He paused, but Melusine caught the inference. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. “Cheveney!” she repeated. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing.
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