Our ideal had fallen. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent.
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