The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. She advanced, stabbing at him. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. 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. E.
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