“What can one say?” she exclaimed. “Do you know that boy very well, Shar?” Cathy Beck yelled in the general direction of the lavatory. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand.
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