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A room of matting and marble-topped, bottle-littered walnut table, of white iron hospital-cot and curly horsehair divan, a dapple-marble mantelpiece of conch-shell, medicated gauze, bisque figurines, and hot-water kettle; in the sheerest of dimity, still dainty of ribbon, the figure of Miss Hoag, hugely, omnipotently omnipresent. "That better, Jas?" Silence. "Better? That's good!
Monsieur Duguey put his candle into lantern, shouldered a broom, and taking blanket, led the way towards the chateau. Want of words to express our fears and distress sealed our lips as we picked our way into a filthy, can-strewn, bottle-littered courtyard, towards a wing of the chateau where I had chosen to sleep. I hardly know what we plodded through the corridor.
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