She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. No wonder we are anxious that nothing should happen to make him change his mind. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount.
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