Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. She felt a cheat and a sneak to his unsuspecting retreating back. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal.
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