He went on. '—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. 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. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. ” She went on, with a desperate attempt to be easy and colloquial: “You see, we were rather good friends, I thought, and now perhaps it will be difficult for us to get back to the old friendly footing. "Show me your warrant!" said Wood, almost driven to his wit's-end; "perhaps it isn't regular?" "Ask him who he is?" suggested Thames.
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