“It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. “I’m not sure whether we don’t rather overdo all this higher education,” he said, with an effect of conveying profound meanings. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me.
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