Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. 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. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. " "As you will," said Jonathan, seating himself. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had.
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