Mr. ” “Well?” “Lunch! I am hungry—tragically hungry. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. Will you stand by and watch me?" The contents of the trunk only thickened the fog. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in.
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