You had better let me go again. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. Smith's melody had subsided. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him.
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