The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. Beside me on Anna’s table was a pistol. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. And yet, the doctor recalled an expression of the girl's: that it was not a dissipated face, only troubled.
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