"Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake.
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