Sc. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. Down on me luck, I was, and they took me in. 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. "He is," returned Quilt, significantly. "You mustn't talk any more; the excitement isn't good for you. Her answer was not quite ready.
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