CHAPTER XXIII. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. Because Leonardo, he made me see that I can be someone. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. "Oh!—to see you thus!" cried Thames, in an agony of affliction. I hated him. " "You hear that," whispered Jack. It’s artificially chance. This year—I’ve got it badly. ” He demanded as she opened her eyes and stopped moaning. Will you take me?" However tempting Mrs. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud.
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