It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. I didn’t believe him and I said so. ’ ‘Oh, that,’ Gerald said cautiously. The castle stood on the main island which connected to the mainland by a foreboding stone and wooden bridge.
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