’ ‘Was. 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. Men usually do. Do not disquiet yourself. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. "Do you think I'm afeard of a beggarly thief-taker and his myrmidons? Not I.
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