I knew where I would go next: Florence. Lucy entered the room. Only one penny—two copies—two pence—thank you, Sir. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. It now occurred to him that she had always been fully dressed. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him.
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