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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. He could imagine it even if he could not feel it. You'll find me at supper. I am five-and-thirty, and I have knocked about in the world and tasted the quality of life. She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 10-07-2024 05:42:27
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