"The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. His voice now had lost its ironies. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. An hour was then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any assistance to Jack; in deploring his unhappy destiny; and in the consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan Wild. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. I don’t care what else there is in the world. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired.
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