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 or circling with monotonous insistence sound the black-crockets spines of the early June hollyhocks, seems to make the stillmen more opprenine, as the dim roar & London was like the bourdon note & a distant organ. In the centre of the zoom, elamped to an upright easel, was standing the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, as in front of it, some little distance away, sat the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden appearance some seans apo courses at the time such prule excitement, ad gave jist to so many strance conjectures. As he looks at the enacores and coming form he had so skiefes minnones in his art, a smile of pleasure pancl across his face, and openness about to linger there but he sudde of started up, ad closing his fles places his fingers upon the lids, as though he soup ht to inpuson within his brain some curious dream from what he jeases he musit awake. "It is your best work, Basil,