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” The note of his own voice exasperated him. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation. ’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. I saw them both. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. 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.
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