\" \"No, but can you carry my lunch bag? Where is yours?\" Michelle asked. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. And then—this sudden thrust. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. Aware that not a moment was to be lost, if he meant to render any effectual assistance to the child, he ceased shouting, and defending himself in the best way he could from the attacks of Rowland, by whom he was closely pressed, forced his way, in spite of all opposition, to Davies, and dealt him a blow on the head with such good will that, had it not been for the intervention of the wall, the ruffian must have been prostrated. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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