The fire still burned brightly. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. CHAPTER V. . ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers.
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