I dined with a friend and went to the ‘Unusual. "You shall see him to-morrow. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter of hairs and big as life and death. We’re handfuls. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. Annabel entered. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. She kept her eyes closed.
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