There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Melusine cast one swift glance at it, and her eyes, flashing magnificently, came back to his face. ‘She’s still bleeding. ’ ‘No. ‘Bring her to me and we shall see. Wood. I want you. ’ He clenched his fists and grew red in the face. He stepped back further. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket.
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