Compared with her father and Mr. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain.
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