" He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrust them under her arm. So, after the dinner was over, Spurlock took her home; and worked far into the night. ‘You think I am like that Valade? No, a thousand times. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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