‘Wait! No time for that. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. ” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. He remembered it suddenly. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended.
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