‘Wait for me. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. “I have the right of the man who loves you,” he declared.
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