The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. She cried out his name in ecstasy.
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