Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. Silly, isn’t it? Undisciplined. "Good-bye, Mac. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. . ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. The truth at once flashed across his mind. Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not.
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