He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. I can’t afford to get behind. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. Life is so good.
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