“Mr. Mr. "I do," replied Sheppard. I will arise myself. Shotbolt?" asked Austin. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. 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. She decided to leave this matter until the morrow and devote the morning to settling up with Mr.
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