She became aware of his presence as she had never been aware of any human being in her life before. “It’s the stir of spring,” he said. 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. I don’t defend it. ’ She shrugged fatalistically. “It was perhaps my fault.
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