This was a large room, well furnished in horsehair and rep.

Wax-lights stood on the mantelpiece before a gilt-framed pierglass; coloured prints hung on the walls.
While Mahony was admiring the genteel comfort to which he had long been a stranger, John Turnham entered the room.

He had a quiet tread, but took determined strides at the floor.

In his hand he held Mahony's card, and he looked from Mahony to it and back again.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr....

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