Pot luck turned out to be an exquisite light lunch served at a round table in a room lined with rococo boiseries that had been removed wholesale from some grand Parisian town house and painted pale blue.
He was about the age of two-and-twenty, among the tallest of the middle size; had chestnut-coloured hair, which he wore tied up in a ribbon; a high polished forehead, a nose inclining to the aquiline, lively blue eyes, red pouting lips, teeth as white as snow, and a certain openness of countenance—but why need I describe any more particulars of his person?
Not wishing to disturb the animal he was trying to photograph, he held his indrawn breath until the shutter was released.
I'm going to sit for them on Thursday.
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