“It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. ” He dared, his nostrils flaring. The atmosphere was 46 strained and deathly quiet at the dining room table. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. Spurlock. Assessing him as harmless, she had remained friendly, albeit aloof.
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