’ ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I am far too interested to stop mixing myself in your affairs,’ Gerald said ruefully. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. Burn your palette and your easel. . There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers.
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