“Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. Aware of Quilt Arnold's mode of proceeding, Jack instantly dismounted, and, instead of knocking, opened the door with the pass-key. The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly.
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