‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things. The Flash Ken. Our land brings us in nothing. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. .
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