Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. Anyhow, that is how things are. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. She woke up choking and belching water. The tension was palpable. Don't lay it all to the boy.
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