"Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. ’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. “I have not left this apartment myself. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast.
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