Stonily he had disengaged himself. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. ‘Merci, dieu. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. You are too kind. And I have seen work by his pupils myself that struck me as being—well, next door to shameful. .
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