"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. "I've made no distinction between you, hitherto," answered Wood; "nor shall I do so, unless I'm compelled. I love you all the more for the streak of sheer devil in you. Emile’s fist crashed into her temple and stars exploded in her vision.
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