“Can’t you SEE how things are?” she said. “Why?” he asked, suavely. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. " "What's that?" "Think it over," said McClintock, grimly. You've caught the colour and the life. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. His tie had demanded a struggle; he ought to have taken a clean one after his first failure.
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