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VIII
The next morning when the Princess
crept through the breach in the
wall where the brook goes gurgling
under the road and, with easel, paintbox,
and canvas, began the ascent of
the glade she met with a shock. There,
not a dozen feet from her chosen spot,
was an easel, and in front of the easel
was a man. He wore a brown velvet
jacket, a dark blue beret sat rakishly
over one ear, and a cloud of smoke
hung about his head. Prudence's
heart sank. She had hoped to finish
