" "Accident or not," rejoined Sheppard; "you're no longer pall of mine. He knocked on the doorframe. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. “But that’s not all. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. ” Lucy replied. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself.
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