“Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. But though the breach was large enough to admit him below, he could not squeeze his bulky person through the aperture into the Red Room. Her aunt glanced up startled, and then sat very still, with hands that had ceased to work. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated.
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