‘Yes, miss. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. Of course, he had no idea who I was. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. " "Perhaps I read of it somewhere. " "What a mistake!" "Yes.
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