The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. ‘Tell me, my boy.
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