Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. She kept opening her eyes and looking at it. 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 bold resolution," said the woollen-draper. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. Now, you know where he is bound.
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