Marius is my dear friend, Ben must have said just as Dalzell had, and he is a fine painter, but what has he got that I haven’t got except a coffin? The feeling had lasted with Dalzell for days after the first funeral fanfare in the papers, a perfectly ridiculous resentment at Marius for “selling out,” quite as if he had started toadying to patrons and critics, dropping his old friends merely for the publicity and success of death.
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