" "Of course," rejoined Quilt, maliciously; "every thief is so. There is a place—This isn’t the place. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. You couldn’t help it. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. Lucy did her best to avoid talking about it, but the subject was beguiling, as it almost always brought news about him from the grapevine within which Michelle was intravenously entwined.
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