“Yes I did. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. But Jack did not heed them. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. 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. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. You must keep out of the way till it's blown over.
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