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. “I love you. "Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild;—"and I sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you—the estates would be yours hereafter. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house.
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