We fixed that. —'Why, hang every bailiff that sets a foot in your territories, and you're safe,' says I. C below. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated.
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