Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. I do not even know his name. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. . Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own.
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