He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. ” She stopped. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you.
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