"My portrait!" echoed Jack. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. You lack only that mechanical knack of expression which is the least important part of an artist’s equipment, but which remains a tedious and absolute necessity. “Come,” he continued, “the world after all is a very small place. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. I'll proclaim his misdoings to the world; and, then, we shall see where he'll stand. O'Higgins did not confide in me. "When it thunders, the thief becomes honest," muttered Wood.
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