You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. . Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. ’ ‘No. ” She refused. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand.
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