“We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. The Widow and her Child. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Vorsack sauntered into the room, sporting her usual toothy thin254 lipped grin.
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