Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. Sheppard," roared Blueskin, who anticipated some fun. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. .
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