"Get a chair, Austin. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. "You will not hesitate to break it, if it suits your purpose.
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