It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him. ‘Eh bien, you are not like Leonardo. If she’s over, he probably knows all about it. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. Like the flaws of an old marble.
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