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“I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. 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.
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