CHAPTER XVII. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. Now she was to be married to him and it horrified her. If I were Mr. "If you two loved each other," went on the doctor, "there would be something to stand on—a reason why for this madness. They sold him the whisky.
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