She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. “Mr. That is what I must do. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. She took up a book and threw it down again.
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