“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Earles said, “but this is rubbish. You are too credulous.
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