There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. Oh, it is unbearable. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. But what did he know beyond these facts? Nothing, clearly.
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