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. Above she found the two Chinamen squatted at the side of the door. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. Here again the clothes were minus the labels. “No I’m not, John. Ennison?” “He spoke to me, thinking that I was you,” Anna answered.
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