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THE CRYSTAL EGG
There was, until a year ago, a little and very grimy-looking shop near
Seven Dials, over which, in weather-worn yellow lettering, the name of
"C. Cave, Naturalist and Dealer in Antiquities," was inscribed. The
contents of its window were curiously variegated. They comprised some
elephant tusks and an imperfect set of chessmen, beads and weapons, a
box of eyes, two skulls of tigers and one human, several moth-eaten
stuffed monkeys (one holding a lamp), an old-fashioned cabinet, a
flyblown ostrich egg or so, some fishing-tackle, and an extraordinarily
dirty, empty glass fish-tank. There was also, at the moment the story
begins, a mass of crystal, worked into the shape of an egg and
brilliantly polished. And at that two people, who stood outside the
window, were looking, one of them a tall, thin clergyman, the other a
black-bearded young man of dusky complexion and unobtrusive costume. The
dusky young man spoke with eager gesticulation, and seemed anxious for
his companion to purchase the article.
While they were there, Mr. Cave came into his shop, his beard still
wagging with the bread and butter of his tea. When he saw these men and
the object of their regard, his countenance fell. He glanced guiltily
over his shoulder, and softly shut the door. He was a little old man,
with pale face and peculiar watery blue eyes; his hair was a dirty grey,
and he wore a shabby blue frock coat, an ancient silk hat, and carpet
slippers very much down at heel. He remained watching the two men as
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