The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. ’ She jumped up, and moved impatiently to the door. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. “One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. .
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