As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. I shall quit this roof to-morrow. He rather liked the "sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit.
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