“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Here's the——" "Let me have one," cried a servant maid, running across the street, and in her haste forgetting to shut the door,—"here's the money. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. Earles asked sharply.
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