Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. " CHAPTER XXV. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ” “Where?” Courtlaw asked quickly. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. ’ ‘Tchah! Better a doubtful welcome here than a confounded French convent. When I heard about Larry I was going 159 to call you, I was, but, well, there is no excuse, is there? I acted like I was afraid of you, afraid that I liked you, so I ignored you like a coward.
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