Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis.
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