His tone was rough, almost threatening. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. CHAPTER XVIII. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. Joyous, she felt the need of physical expression; and her body began to sway sinuously, to glide and turn and twist about the room. She met him by the dugout after the game.
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