The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. Then pain entered their depths. You have taken upon your shoulders the burden of her misdeeds. 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.
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