"Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. He could not move; but stood like one stupified, with his hands clasped together, and eyes almost starting out of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortunate parent. They were delighted. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. They were just nice. He may not be able to eat tin-cans, but he tries to. Cathy's eyebrows perked up.
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