"Give me the link," cried Jonathan. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog.
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