Thames did not try to cheer her. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. Never! And they don’t know it! They have no idea of it.
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