"Why didn't you come out when I called you, you young dog?" cried Quilt in a savage tone. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. She kissed Cathy's soft cheek as she entered the warm kitchen. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure.
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