Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk.
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