God had never answered any of her prayers. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. When the twins had first come to live in the 208 house, they were thin and bony, their tiny mouths crying for food.
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