Sydney Courtlaw, live here, please?” Anna asked him. Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. "I'll make a sketch, too," he said. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. I have slept with it under my pillow.
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