To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. I will tell you this much, because you have been kind. 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. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. Wild is a friend of yours, I'm sorry for what I said. “Anyway, enough about that. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me.
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