Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. I do not wish to return to Paris. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. That's a queer yarn. A sprinkling of callow youths, and a couple of pronounced young Jews, who were talking loudly together in some unintelligible jargon of the City.
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