Not up here, I think. 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. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please.
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