" She showed him the locket; and he studied the face. “It is no good playing a game. "Come out!" roared Quilt, looking into the aperture. ” Brendon went very pale. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. I’ve wanted you—always. "By the powers!" he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, "he's a nice gennteel-lookin' kiddy, I must say.
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