She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. . He had diverged only a little from the truth when he said that his chief interest in life was women.
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