The lady murmured briefly to her husband, and then tucked her hand into Alderley’s arm. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. At once. I have given up painting. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander.
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