In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. 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. He was an imaginative young man. And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair.
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