"Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. "To be lonely! What is physical torture, if someone who loves you is nigh? But to be alone … as I am!… yes, and as you are! Oh, you haven't told me, but I can see with half an eye. Um. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself.
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