’ I said. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. . 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. Hanging about! And they start thinking and asking questions, and begin to be neither one thing nor the other. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket.
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