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Shut up that wash-stand, and pull the curtain across that hideous window. Stop! Throw those towels into your berth. Put my shoes, and your slippers into the shoe-bag on the door. Slip the brushes into that other bag. Beat the dent out of the sofa cushion that your head has made. Now!" "Then then you will see her?" "See her!"
Red had popped out in her cheeks. There was voice in each breath moans that her throat would not hold. That night she slept in the kind of fifty-cent room the city offers its decent poor. A slit of a room with a black-iron bed and a damp mattress. A wash-stand gaunt with its gaunt mission. A slop-jar on a zinc mat. A caneless-bottom chair.
"There," said the landlord, placing the candle on a crazy old sea chest that did double duty as a wash-stand and centre table; "there, make yourself comfortable now; and good night to ye." I turned round from eyeing the bed, but he had disappeared. Folding back the counterpane, I stooped over the bed. Though none of the most elegant, it yet stood the scrutiny tolerably well.
The room was small and white; everything was white about it, the curtained bed, the little wash-stand in the corner, the bare walls, the china lamp, and his own face, had he known it, but the face and neck of Rue were surging in the colour that dyed the blossoming rose-tree there on the hearth beside her. It did not occur to him to speak. She seemed not to expect it.
It crashed through him and struck the mirror over the wash-stand, and as the shattered glass fell with a loud noise to the floor the door to my state-room opened, and the captain of the ship, flanked by the room steward and the doctor, stood at the opening. "What's all this about?" said the captain, addressing me.
At the rear was a folding-table, and above it a board from which Corydon hung her clothing; along the other wall were her canvas cot, and a little stand with some books, and a wash-stand and another trunk. Some distance off in the woods stood a second tent, seven feet square, in which Thyrsis had a cot for himself, and also a canvas-chair in which he sat to receive the visits of his muse.
This room lighted from above, had no other means of exit than the doorway by which one entered. It was furnished with a few arm-chairs, a sofa, and a marble wash-stand. Pierre double-locked the door, after partially unbinding his brother's hands. Macquart was then heard to throw himself on the sofa, and start singing the "Ca Ira" in a loud voice, as though he were trying to sing himself to sleep.
"Then perhaps you can tell me the color of the pencil I have been writing with." "Certainly. Red." Most pencils are red, and I thought this was safe. But he held his right hand out with a flourish. "I've been writing with a fountain pen," he said in deep disgust, and turned his back on me. But the next moment he had run to the wash-stand and pulled it out from the wall.
"Did you notice the new soap-dish on your wash-stand?" she asked me, one morning. "Do you deserve it? Do you know how often I am in your room every day? Just guess." "A million times a day." "To you it's a joke. But if you loved as I do you would not be up to joking." "Very well, I'll cry." And I personated a boy crying. "Don't. It breaks my heart," she said, earnestly.
A wash-stand in the corner, a chest of carved mahogany drawers, a looking-glass in a filigreed frame, and a high-backed chair studded with brass nails like a coffin, constituted the furniture.
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