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. “I am the most foolish of men. Yes. Ann Veronica had a number of fragmentary impressions of Alice strangely transfigured in bridal raiment. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book.
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