It drives one mad at times. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. , you know, fair and square. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. Even if you pretend sometimes to be without sense. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully.
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