How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. It is the only way. " Mr. Quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his brother-janizary's carelessness. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised.
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