She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. 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. One don't often get sich a vindfal as the Markis——" "Or such a customer as Mr. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. ” She replied. The feeling of last days grew stronger with her as their number diminished. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance. He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. She saw how overworked he was. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. I may say she does not sound in the least like Mary,’ said Mrs Sindlesham bluntly. ” He said to her with as much casualness as he could muster.
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