47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. “My dear Miss Pellissier,” he said impressively, “this is an unexpected pleasure.
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