In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. " "I do not doubt it," retorted Winifred, scornfully; "because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. Darting to a window looking in that direction, Thames threw it up, and discharged both his pistols, but without effect. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered.
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