The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. 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. Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl.
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