Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Tol-de-rol!" As Jack concluded his ditty, the door flew open with a crash, and Thames sprang through the aperture. "Done!" cried Shotbolt. " Spurlock lowered his voice. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile.
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