Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. Hogarth, and Mr. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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