" CHAPTER XIX. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q. ” “Lady Ferringhall—alone?” Ennison exclaimed. ” She replied, smiling awkwardly. People were passing in the street below. ” “That is another French custom,” he remarked, “which is not so agreeable. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth.
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