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of brass or of silver-gilt? You could not tell. They seemed to be of
gold. And in the centre of this lordly ceiling, like a gloomy and
magnificent sky, the gleaming escutcheon was as the dark splendour of a
sun shining in the night.
The savage, in whom is embodied the free man, is nearly as restless in a
palace as in a prison. This magnificent chamber was depressing. So much
splendour produces fear. Who could be the inhabitant of this stately
palace? To what colossus did all this grandeur appertain? Of what lion
is this the lair? Gwynplaine, as yet but half awake, was heavy at
heart.
"
Where am I?" he said.
The man who was standing before him answered,--"You are in your own
house, my lord."
CHAPTER IV.
FASCINATION.
It takes time to rise to the surface. And Gwynplaine had been thrown
into an abyss of stupefaction.
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