The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. It was the one that she had sworn she’d throw out, if only Julian had not liked it so much. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. And, yet, I don't know.
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