His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. I wonder. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me.
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