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“I suppose all life is an affair of chances. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. Wood. 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. . He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky.
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