The sing-song girls in Hong-Kong are far handsomer. 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. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. I asked you to go. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood.
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