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. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. Her whole face stiffened with suppressed anger. I want to be very plain with you. He's down in Patagonia somewhere. Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time. The tall, blond boys, right?” “That’s them. My address is 94, Pall Mall. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house.
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