The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar.
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