“They are full of the usual foolish stories. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. “Do you mean in looks?” she asked. He never retires to rest till daybreak—if at all. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. And let us go on with our evening.
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