Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. “So tell me what happened, all of it! I saw roses!” Shari exclaimed. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. This year—I’ve got it badly.
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