" "I, Sir!—I swear——" "Tush!" interrupted Jonathan, harshly. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. ” “Oh, well!” he said, a little doubtfully, “it’s just a phase,” and bent down and rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, with his heart beating and his nerves a-quiver. His eyes flashed as he turned towards her. Will you not, brother?" "Promise," said a deep voice in Trenchard's ear.
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