” She was able to go straight to her room without delay, and she at once locked the door with a little sigh of relief. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Mike knocked on the door. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait.
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