" "What do you think of my sketch, Jack?" said Hogarth, handing him the drawing. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Doctors constantly admonished and offered weak consolation that most would have been hurt much worse from the type of fall he took. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered.
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