It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. 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. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. With a moment of inward shame he remembered his deportment towards Anna.
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