Burn your palette and your easel. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. Then it dawned. "Help!—help, Mr. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. “It’s magnificent!” He leaned back and regarded her with his head a little on one side.
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