But in a moment she believed she understood. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. ‘More nor that. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. 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.
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