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"Isn't it jolly—to be here in a real Academy of Fine Arts, just like all the famous artists when they were young and unknown? Doesn't it make you feel all excited and quivery, Norn?" asked Patricia, as she fitted her key into the narrow gray locker with an air of huge enjoyment. "I don't see how you can look so cool. You are as calm and refrigerated as a piece of the North Pole." "Is dere poison in de bag, white man?" "Partly, Miss Dallas, and partly to see you; also this gentleman.".
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Conrad
"Don't go tasting too many new ones around here," she cautioned with a kiss. "You might hit on the wrong one, and they wouldn't understand that it was merely a game with you." "You've got to make butterflies of the wire-loops, you know, to hold the clay up, or it'll slump down off the iron headpiece soon as you get your head set up," explained her instructor in an agreeable tone. "It's easier to set up a head than a figure, I can tell you——" "I am certain of all save one," replied Arkel, in a dissatisfied tone, "and the worst of it is that Dido is the one." "Dying!" cried Patricia, aghast. "Why they said she was better this morning.".
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