“Yes. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. You give her a daub here and there where the rust shows. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. Cocking the gun. ’ ‘But you must. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. " "Suffer me to proceed," replied the stranger.
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