He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. ‘We mean you no harm,’ he said reassuringly. It struck his forehead, splitting it, and brought him to his knees. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. “Both.
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