’ ‘What?’ squeaked Kimble. "What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. As to his mother, I've no pity for her. Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all.
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