The Widow and her Child II. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. Well aware that the doors in this passage were much stronger than those in the entry he had just quitted he was neither surprised nor dismayed to find it fastened by a lock of unusual size. She noticed that this trunk was not littered with hotel labels. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. . You know all this stuff is insured. .
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