‘I knows how to do better nor any surgeon. You are not my husband. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. You must wait till supper's over. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock.
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