The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. "Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs.
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