In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. " The young man thanked his informant, and was about to follow his instructions, when the other called after him—— "I say, master, did you ever hear tell of Mr. ” “In Paris, I think,” Ennison answered.
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