“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. ” He passed his hand wearily over his forehead. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the other. In truth, Sheila never saw Lucy murder anyone at all, she only saw the blood.
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