Yours?" The stranger hesitated. . . ” John replied. Mr. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. "Sir Rowland, I salute you as your nephew.
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