Moving to the shuttered window, Melusine dragged the heavy drapes back. "One of you fly to the market," returned Jonathan; "another to the river; a third to the New Mint. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. I want you.
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