See how she's had the electric
light put in, instead of that horrid gas; but try and turn either of
them on--you can't; last quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an
oil lamp, you can tell that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will
not answer to the name of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little
Djin, all prominent eyes rolling their blacks, and no nose between--yes,
Carmen looks as if she didn't know what was coming next; she's
right--it's a pet-and-slap-again life! Consider, too, the fittings of
the tea-tray, rather soiled, though not quite tin, but I say unto you
that no millionaire's in all its glory ever had a liqueur bottle on it.'
When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to front
of the little house, preceded by the announcement "Mr. Aesop," it was
resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing
the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short
intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on
the sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob
Pillin muttering: "Ye-es! Qui-ite! Ye-es!" and gazing at Phyllis over
his collar.
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