She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. He swore when I tried to get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. “It’s fine, Michelle. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas.
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