. While they were thus occupied, a maid-servant entered the room, and stated that a person was without who had a packet for Captain Darrell, which must be delivered into his own hands. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. "We must change the subject," remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task; "this will never do. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly.
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