"Yes; and I hope you'll take ample vengeance upon him," said Quilt. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. The major’s hand stilled. He gave you a poison. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. It has been proved. Observing Spurlock's spellbound attitude, he clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked.
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