"It is easy to make an assertion like this," said Thames, contemptuously. Spurling had retired for the night. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. ’ He scratched his chin as if he thought about it, but covertly kept a careful study of what he could see of her face. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants.
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