She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. 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. \"No, what?\" She said. ” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. The fashions of the day have become antiquated.
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