"You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt; "there he stands. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. Let me engage myself. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. Not up here, I think. Then, when the tension was getting unendurable, and she was on the verge of speaking to some casual passer-by and demanding help, her follower vanished.
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