Nobody could possibly find him now. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. Chairs were overturned. Come and see him, Lucia. Peste, but everything had become difficult. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. I had no curiosity of that kind.
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