“Me and my bright ideas. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. Not wisely but too well. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent.
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