Montague Hill. . He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. ‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it.
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