He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. This obstacle, which appeared to preclude the possibility of egress in that quarter, was speedily got rid of. Mrs. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger.
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