’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. The wedding procession passed on, and the cynical rabble poured in behind. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. Q.
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