It’s—Mrs. “You must tell me the truth, please. She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. I will ring if I want you. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. Afterwards she hunted up the article in question, and it seemed to her quite delightfully written and argued. Sheppard; "but I love you next to her, and both of you better than Her," pointing with the pipe to his mother.
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