It had been her home for hundreds of years. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. They sold him the whisky. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. “Where am I?” he muttered. ’ That arrested her.
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