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In the bedroom a candle was burning on a dusty and empty dressing-table. Dr. Cashmore moved it to the vicinity of the bed, which was like an oasis of decent arrangement in the desert of comfortless chamber; then he stooped to examine the sick valet. "He's shivering!" exclaimed the doctor softly.

"Don't tell me you did that!" he said, in a low voice; and then, seeing that it was true, "Oh, now you have done it!" "I've 'done it'?" George cried. "What do you mean: I've done it? And what have I done?" Amberson had collapsed into an easy chair beside his dressing-table, the white evening tie he had been about to put on dangling from his hand, which had fallen limply on the arm of the chair.

Then, laughing heartily, he dressed as quickly as possible in the smartest suit he could lay hands on at the moment, filled his pockets with cash which he took from a small drawer in the dressing-table, and next, knotting the sheets from his bed together and tying one end of the improvised rope round the central mullion of the handsome Tudor window which formed such a feature of his bedroom, he scrambled out, slid lightly to the ground, and, taking the opposite direction to the Rat, marched off light-heartedly, whistling a merry tune.

He got upon his hands and knees, looked under the bed, the wardrobe, the dressing-table, the chairs, muttering all the while with a voice like a dying man's. He rose up, staggering, and seized Marcia by the arm, who trembled with terror at his ferocity. "The money! Give me the money! You've got it! You know you have! Give it to me! Give" "Pray, be calm," said Mrs.

Kate did not sit down, but perched on the arm of a big cushioned chair between the writing-desk and the dressing-table. "You see, dear," she went on in her softest voice, to which she could give a pretty, tearful tremolo at will, "I'm in rather a peculiar position. You have been so sweet all this year and more that we've been together, that I suppose you've spoilt me.

I was a fool not to see that if I'd put it to you in that way you'd have accepted or refused, as you chose; but that at least you wouldn't have mistaken my intentions. Intentions!" He stood up, walked the length of the room, and turned back to where she still sat motionless, her elbows propped on the dressing-table, her chin on her hands. "What rubbish we talk about intentions!

On inquiring of the servants, she found the master had not returned. On his dressing-table, as she took off her hat, she noticed a neat little oblong parcel lying. It was addressed in Augustus's writing, "To my darling Henry, with all his father's love." Grace smiled to herself. "Gussie remembered the paint-box," she said. "He never forgets the boy."

"You look as though you had just come from the dressing-table." "You do not think so!" "But I do; still, it may be a case where love is blind." The fresh color swept into her cheeks. "That is the only explanation possible, I am sure. See how the skirt is stained, and the lace ruffle is almost torn off." "Oh, well, don't worry; the Lieutenant has lost his natty appearance also.

Polly's hands had been mainly instrumental in giving choice touches to this room; Polly's favorite blue vase stood filled with flowers on the dressing-table, and a lovely photograph of the Sistine Madonna which belonged to Polly hung over the mantelpiece. Flower did not look at any of these things.

"Come back to your room." She said nothing, and I led her back, waited while she got into bed, and then, placing the candle on the dressing-table, sat down in a chair by her side. The strong determination to take prompt action, to come to an explanation, to end these dreary mysteries of mind and conduct, was still upon me.