Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. . Another picture slid across her vision. ‘And I do understand. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet. “I have had a trying evening and I need rest. Ramage went up the Avenue, and she hurried along the path with a beating heart and a disagreeable sense of unsolved problems in her mind. It was after all a momentary affair.
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