His face turned a dark crimson. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. "Never—never!" The words were scarcely pronounced, when the door was violently thrown open, and two men appeared at it. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. It’s to do with adolescence. Ennison with my sister last night.
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