Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. " "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. " "The very face," exclaimed Gay, advancing to look at it;—"with all the escapes written in it. ‘I’ll handle her better alone. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. Gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. It's a thousand pities to hang so pretty a fellow. John.
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