“Muck-headed moral ass! I ought to have done anything. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. How would he act when he learned that it had vanished? She gathered up the manuscripts and restored them to the envelope.
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