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And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. I bring you tidings of an old friend. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency.

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