"Mr. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. It is of no use. ” “How?” He asked. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. " "Curse you!" cried Jack, furiously,—"curse you!—curse you!" "Swear away, Captain," rejoined Blueskin, coolly. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat.
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