" As familiar as Quilt Arnold himself with every part of Wild's mysterious abode, as well as with the ways of its inmates, Jack, without a moment's hesitation, took up a lamp which was burning in the hall, and led his companion up the great stone stairs. "Perhaps things would have been different if she had lived. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V.
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