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. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. A nurse came hurrying up. "You two … both of you! But for you I couldn't have done it. ’ ‘Alas. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap.
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