The tall, blond boys, right?” “That’s them. 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. " The knight staggered as if struck by a mortal wound. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. As time wore on, and they did not return, Mr.
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