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"Come out!" roared Quilt, looking into the aperture. He barely shook the rose petals from her hair. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. Felix. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere.
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