But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti.
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