John looked at his feet bashfully. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. His father and mother were a lawyer and a doctor, respectively. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees.
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