She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. In the upper hall he paused to listen. ‘They cannot be worse than mine in English, monsieur. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring.
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