This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. Ruth could not very well object, since an air of distinction would go with Taber. A cup of lies.
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