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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. ’ ‘Will you have done, Gerald?’ demanded Hilary, exasperated. ’ ‘You have seen him? Exactement. ‘Oh, peste. ‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. "What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth.
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