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Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. ” “I wonder how he treated Gwen. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. ‘I’m a soldier, missie. "Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter. I think you are hard. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. 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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