There was a black fear in his heart. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. ‘André? Que dit-il?’ ‘My wife does not understand,’ said the fellow, frowning deeply. So he resolved to try another tack. Ramage demurred.
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