So he decided to stay. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh. “I should make sure that he doesn’t try to drive himself home. ” She turned and looked at him.
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