Nor can we. ” Annabel leaned back in her chair and laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. My trouble is with your sister. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint. 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.
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