It was Annabel who spoke. She knew that babies came from the womb; her womb had fallen out with her baby. So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse. ‘You will release me at once, imbecile. 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. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand.
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