He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. “What are you doing?” he asked. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. ’ ‘It will be worth the pain, you will see. Mere hangers on.
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