She asked the girl to fetch Mr. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Her parents totally look the other way. Three little letters can’t make a bit of difference. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. "We shall meet again ere long, my son," cried Mrs.
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