“And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. " "Ha!" exclaimed her son, starting back, as he obeyed her, and disclosed Jonathan Wild. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. He did not explain what had happened to her.
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