Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. “Hey, Mike. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. All its better points were improved, while the less attractive ones (and they were few in comparison) were subdued, or removed.
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