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. ‘It is the life I know. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. You have been burning paper, I see. The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried it to the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously.
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