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. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. They all stay!” “And you yourself?” Brendon laughed.
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