I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing. "You know this is a pet project. The Disguise 261 VI. —BRENDON. His patient was distinctly of a different order of life. With her lived a Mrs. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. The Jacobite. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. She stared at him. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. But David Courtlaw has been here. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss.
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