Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. 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. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. "Oh! I see!" replied Blueskin, winking significantly, "Come nearer, or they'll observe us. Wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out.
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