Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Beautiful sculptures of sugar and almond paste decorated the long tables, delicate replicas of flowers and miniature animals, even a small Palazzo sculpted from cakes graced the table. I must break open the door.
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