Burn your palette and your easel. Well, I told aunt. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. ‘My papa he does not wish me to marry the man I choose, and thus he places me in the convent that the nuns may lock me up and I cannot escape.
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