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Her pretty silver brushes and trays looked somewhat out of place on the prim dressing-table, but Patty thought them a decided improvement. Then she unwrapped her mother's portrait, and placed it on the writing-table.

The schoolmaster went and picked out a long pipe, and filled it, clearing his throat nervously, with an occasional glance at the boy. "H'm so this is you. This is Peer h'm." He lit his pipe and puffed a little, found himself again obliged to sneeze but at last settled down in a chair at the writing-table, stretched out his long legs, and puffed away again. "So that's what you look like?"

He sternly put out his hand, protecting himself. "Where have you been?" he said, in a low voice "and with whom?" Kitty fell into a chair and burst into wild tears. There was silence for a few moments except for Kitty's crying. Ashe still stood beside his writing-table, his hand resting upon it, his eyes on Kitty. Once or twice he began to speak, and stopped.

Mary said, and he imagined that her tone was one of disappointment. "I'll be down presently," he went on, and then he ran up the stairs to his room. "I don't know," he said to himself, as he closed his door. "I'm damned if I know!" He sat down at the writing-table and spread a sheet of notepaper in front of him. "I wish I knew!..." he murmured, and he wrote down the date.

"He knows now what it is. Now I want you to write a note to him which I will leave at the bureau in case he calls to-night or to-morrow morning." "Yes." She went to the writing-table and sat down. "If you will allow me to suggest the wording." "Please please do!" She took up a pen and dipped it in the ink.

A shaft of strong sunshine slanted in and lay, like a bright highway, across the rich colours of the Persian carpet. The air was hot but nimble, and of a vivacious and stimulating quality. It fluttered some loose papers on the writing-table near the open window. It fluttered the delicate laces and fine muslin frills of Lady Calmady's morning-gown.

As soon as she could bear it, that ceremony must be gone through which should have been performed long ago. He was young, he was impatient, he would fain be at work without delay; so he turned to his writing-table, and began opening certain letters that had already followed him into France, but that he had laid aside without examination, in the excitement of the last few hours.

The rector admitted that she might be right, but after Dot had gone to bed he leaned his elbow on his writing-table and sat long in thought. "I wonder," he murmured to himself presently, "I wonder if Lady Carfax knows what she is doing. She really is too young, poor girl, to be so much alone."

The two prefects were standing at the front of the writing-table. Allingford's face was very white, and Oaks's very red, "for all the world like the Wars of the Roses," as Jack Vance afterwards remarked, though it would be difficult to clearly understand the simile.

There was also a diminutive framed picture exhibiting beneath the glass a fragment of brown silk, with an arrow-pierced heart embroidered on it, and the English words: An Unknown Friend. In front of a modest writing-table covered with green baize was a large Voltaire arm-chair upholstered in red morocco; and about the room were a few other ebony chairs covered in brown cloth.