Smith's melody had subsided. \"Do you want a snack?\" \"No thanks. “For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. She said she hoped she had not distressed him by the course she had felt obliged to take, and he told her not to be a fool.
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