"My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. You can pull it over on everybody else, Lucy, but not on me. "Sir Rowland must be gone. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture.
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