“It—it—must come,” she faltered. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. Give this fellow the slip, if you can, Jack. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. 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. Haven’t I shown you over and over again that I mean you no harm? What do I have to do?’ ‘You can go away and leave me to my affairs,’ she threw at him.
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