'
'By Jove, what a day it is!' observed Jawleyford, turning the
conversation, as the wind dashed the hard sleet against the window like a
shower of pebbles. 'Lucky to have a good house over one's head, such
weather; and, by the way, that reminds me, I'll show you my new gallery and
collection of curiosities--pictures, busts, marbles, antiques, and so on;
there'll be fires on, and we shall be just as well there as here.' So
saying, Jawleyford led the way through a dark, intricate, shabby passage,
to where a much gilded white door, with a handsome crimson curtain over it
announced the entrance to something better. 'Now,' said Mr. Jawleyford,
bowing as he threw open the door, and motioned, or rather flourished, his
guest to enter--'now,' said he, 'you shall see what you shall see.'
Mr. Sponge entered accordingly, and found himself at the end of a gallery
fifty feet by twenty, and fourteen high, lighted by skylights and small
windows round the top. There were fires in handsome Caen-stone
chimney-pieced fireplaces on either side, a large timepiece and an organ at
the far end, and sundry white basins scattered about, catching the drops
from the skylights.
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