"You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly.
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