Melusine opened her eyes at him. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. I sang to him, and he was satisfied. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. S.
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