As soon as she reached this spot, Wild sprang ashore, and was joined by several persons, —among whom was Quilt Arnold, leading a horse by the bridle,—he hastened down the stairs to meet him. Her eyes flashed. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays.
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