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She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. Andrew's Church, his pursuers had gained the bridge, and the attention of such passengers as crowded the streets was attracted towards him by their vociferations. Very likely you will disapprove highly of what I have done—I wonder? You may, perhaps, think I have done it just in a fit of childish petulance because my father locked me in when I wanted to go to a ball of which he did not approve. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. 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.
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