She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. 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. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. Very slowly, very fearfully, she turned her head. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively.
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