He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. ‘I can see why you lost your place, young Kimble. His new wife’s face was sweet and angelic with hair the color of flax, her belly already visibly large beneath a roe skin pelt. After a little further discourse the old man took his departure. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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