"We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack," whispered Poll Maggot. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. “No, John, you won’t understand. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. Kent say to it?" "He thinks so highly of it, that he says if he had a daughter he would give her to the artist," answered Gay, a little maliciously. He was beautiful despite the odd angle. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers.
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