" "What am I to do to earn it?" asked Blueskin, with a disgusting leer,—"cut a throat—or throw myself at your feet—eh, my dear?" "Give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity. 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. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. It’s just hard to keep things from her. ‘But don’t let me stop you from going to see Charvill. I suppose you came right out and asked him about his family?’ ‘Nothing of the sort. You should have confided in me, and fallen in with my plan at the beginning.
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