‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. On the contrary, his glass was never idle, and finding it not filled quite so frequently as he desired, he applied himself, notwithstanding the expressive looks and muttered remonstrances of Mr. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool.
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