Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. Michelle was in sight, Lucy could hear her voice, high in the crowd, and saw her blond head bobbing among a sea of faces. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. "You shall not go, adorable girl," cried Kneebone, catching her in his arms, "till you have answered me.
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