" "On my soul, Thames, you wrong me!" replied Jack, passionately. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. Paintings sold off the walls. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph.
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