The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. You have betrayed me. “I mean to go to that dance! I meant to reason with you, but you won’t reason. Bring me clothing, I beg of you. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. “I have a special surprise for you, Lucia. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. 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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