” He said. I’m sorry I ruined dinner. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. There was one letter. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. He was alarmed when she returned to the stage and her eyes passed over him in the audience. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your thanks. From other obscure hints dropped by the speakers, Mrs.
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