He felt her observance and warmed to it. “You can count upon me, Nigel,” she said. She is called Madame Ibstock, you understand. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. “I expected to stay with a relation, but I found that their arrangements did not allow of it.
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