You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. “We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers— every blessed one of us. I followed you home on the train. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. But I am sick of tearing up letters and hopeless of getting what I have to say better said.
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