Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. “You have dyed your hair and darkened your eyebrows. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. She had felt very uncomfortable around him, grotesque. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris.
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