I didn't expect you home before that hour, Sir. ’ ‘You’re going to break into the house? You’re mad. I have been insulted, and cursed at, and threatened with both pistol and dagger. 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.
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