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“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. ” Diane purred. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security. We shall take an eternal farewell of each other. The door opened. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. ’ Gerald tutted.
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