"Leave the room," interposed Kneebone, angrily. "One last embrace. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window.
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