Burn your palette and your easel. He was damned if he knew what to do. 'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I. ” Lucy felt herself grow feverish inside. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. “You will go and see her,” he begged. "But we'll find a way to make you open your lips presently. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness.
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