"Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again. And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me. White, my landlady, believes his story.
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