Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. "Before to- morrow night that boy shall join his father. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. She was emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. It melted her heart. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come.
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