" IV. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Her wedding gown! She wondered if the spirit of the unknown mother looked down upon her. ” “That sounds very interesting,” she answered coolly. I'm a slave to my word.
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