The thought made her exquisitely happy. So, bloody but unbeaten, weak and spent but undaunted, he waited for the Wastrel to spring up. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess.
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