Burn your palette and your easel. The lady looked them over in silence, and then pouting lips trembled, dark eyelashes fluttered, and in a broken voice, she pleaded, ‘Honoured messieurs, you will not allow this—this pig, to be thus cruel? He cannot arrest me. It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I can sell. Not fit to be dust on your boots.
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