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’ But the nun’s eyes had caught Gerald behind and she took instant umbrage. She had warned him. " "How so?" asked the other, distrustfully. I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. . 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.

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