” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. “Why should it matter?” he said. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. 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. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. 1. Rhea spun round and sank her teeth into Lucy’s arm.
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