You called yourself a murderess. 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. I begin to fear I might be purposely go out of the way. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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