Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. Everything was going to hell. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. You have threatened to kill me for nothing, I know not how many times. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. 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. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease.
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