Mr. Norris says she's dying. She took up a book and threw it down again. Still, they bob up occasionally. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly.
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