On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. \" Lucy lied. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly.
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