\" She knew he was blushing in the dark. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day.
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