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. Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. "Why do you laugh?" he asked. The Return.
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