The militia offered little in the way of relief. “Absolutely platonically,” she said. ” Anna measured out the coffee. 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. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. . You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning.
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