When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. She was surprised at his modesty. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances.
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