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It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. "Do you recollect this key? Do you recollect to whom you gave it, and for what purpose? or shall I refresh your memory?" Wild appeared confounded. ‘That is true,’ Melusine conceded. " "Six," he corrected. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. ‘You do not try. He is steeped in the conventions.
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