"I hear you plotting with your wicked associates," cried Mrs. Wood, who looks after her comforts, and visits her constantly. And, now, to find a messenger. 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.
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