Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. Mr. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. Oui, dans la note. But that title he would not endure. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon.
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