"If I hadn't just left him, I could have sworn it was Mrs. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. 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.
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