After all, life had still its pulsations. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. "How very like it is!" "Not so strange, surely," laughed Thames, "that a picture should resemble the person for whom it's intended. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless.
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