. ’ ‘Sir!’ came from Trodger, and the booted feet clattered off and out of the front door. Wood. The ward in which he was confined, was about six yards in length, and three in width, and in height, might be about twelve feet. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. A woman has a perfect right to choose her own husband, but Nigel seemed to think that there was something a little mysterious about your treatment of him. She would never forget the agony of that first meal in the great dining room. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countless bottles and many appliances of surgical science.
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