Gold-handled, too. ‘Here you, Pottiswick. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. 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.
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