He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. " "Of course," rejoined Quilt, maliciously; "every thief is so. . ‘What is it that you told him?’ ‘Nothing, miss, I swear.
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