“Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt.
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