Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Their small talk continued. ” John gestured.
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