Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. " "Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. ” “You and I and Brendon get on all right, don’t we?” Sydney objected. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush.
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