She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. Her father had smiles ready for her, he seemed to be truly happy with her for the first time since her infancy. 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 mumbled an apology and then stopped short.
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