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MR. JESSE TRASMERE sat at the end of a long, and, except in his immediate vicinity, bare table. At his end it was laid, and Mr. Trasmere was slowly and deliberately enjoying a lean cutlet.
The room gave no suggestion of immense wealth and paid no silent tribute either to his artistic taste or his acquaintance with China. The walls were innocent of pictures, the furniture old, European, and shabby. Mr. Trasmere had bought it second-hand and had never ceased to boast of the bargain he had secured.