She expanded that. "Leave the room instantly, sirrah!" rejoined the lady, bouncing up, and giving him a slap on the cheek that made his eyes flash fire. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. There was a stain of wine upon her dress.
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