It’s all nonsense. He stood transfixed. When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. I rarely set foot in London these days. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. .
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