You will not find me unreasonable with you. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again.
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