” “I had some unexpected business,” Courtlaw answered shortly. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s lips twitched. 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. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife.
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