He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. Ann Veronica looked bright and a little elated, and she disregarded her father’s invitation to be seated. She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. “How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it.
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