Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. “Let me help you,” he begged. 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. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. " Meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and chatting as merrily as before. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. "Look at him!" Ruth looked. “You may not leave.
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