Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting. “Why?” He inquired. 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. He reeled, and crashed to the floor. I’m a little tired. I am aware that you ran away from there, but—’ ‘Certainly I ran away,’ she said, meeting his gaze with defiance in her own. " "Not your only chance, Thames," returned Jack, in the same undertone; "but your best.
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