"No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. Take care of the old clothesman, and leave the rest to me. "With all my heart!" replied Wood. “Indeed, I must implore you to return.
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