She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. There was no one to be seen. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. ” “It scarcely gives me a chance,” Mr.
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