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Novelist Paul Jordan Smith— of Los Angeles never meddled with the brushes of his wife, Sarah Bixby Smith, portrait painter. He liked her work, was content to stick to his pen while she stuck on her pigments.
But one day Los Angeles critics, reviewing a local art show, cast disdainful glances at an exhibit by Mr. Smith's wife, later tapped out on their typewriters with long, nervous fingers the snippy opinion that it was "distinctly of the old school." On reading this, Mr. Smith saw...
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