“I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. ‘Very inventive. 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. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Amid this varied throng,—varied in appearance, but alike in character,—one object alone, we have said, rivetted Mrs. . . . Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
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