Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. “You silly fool,” he said. ” “You can’t be killed?” He asked. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick.
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