And now, Sir, have I kept faith with you?" "You have," replied Darrell. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. 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.
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