"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. ” “I don’t deal very much,” said Ann Veronica, “in the Higher Morality, or the Higher Truth, or any of those things. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it.
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