I always thought Mrs. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. But Jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. Goodbye.
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