"My portrait!" echoed Jack. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. 1.
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