“I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. They did not spend most days together. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed.
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