She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Behind Mrs. “I have just ordered a carriage for her. 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. After the first violent outbreak of grief had in some degree subsided, Thames addressed him.
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