At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. “But about last night. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. ” “And he accepted meekly?” “Practically.
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