” He looked at her very gravely. 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. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. “My sister is sure to be out.
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