" "Thames," said Sheppard in a low voice, as he threw a vindictive glance at the carpenter, "I shan't forget this. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. He glanced up at the coachman. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served.
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