"Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. ‘You said?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. . By and by she heard the screen door. Spurlock slept on.
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