Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. That's the way it goes. "We've heard coming and going. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. ” He shook his head, and his eyes and the mouth under the black mustache wrinkled with his smile. To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed. Either we go forth together, or they shall bury me. . She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave.
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