“Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. “Tut, tut!” he said.
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