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. ” For a moment or two he did not speak. \" \"All right. Managers and accountants are always shifting about, so he tells me. Ireton is welcome to search every room in my house if he pleases," said Jonathan, in a tone of bravado. That’s— that’s my private life. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. A woman such as I am might help take care of Mr. But he tells them that I am a spy.
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