Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. But pathologically, he is still on the edge. “Quite particularly nice,” said her aunt. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer.
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