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. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. “John’s here. How did you like Tristan?” Ann Veronica paused the fraction of a second before her reply came. CHAPTER XV. Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint.
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