"We shall all be murdered. She swallowed hard. I bring you tidings of an old friend. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. Sebastian howled with laughter, doubling over. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber. My reception at West Kensington you know of.
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