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. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. It penetrated the skin; benumbed the flesh; paralysed the faculties.
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