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. ’ Handing over the guineas, he added, ‘For you. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. “Homely?” “Well, yeah, that’s what he said. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot.
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