You sent back my Christmas checks. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. The manager twisted his moustache. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. “I believe that you would find her in some respects curiously altered.
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