Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. "No," answered Jack, approaching her, "though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. “Okay, I guess. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn.
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