"Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. You have the ideas. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face.
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