. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Besides, he might hear things. Anyhow, ten minutes after I get to work I'll be rumpling it.
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