“There are two things to be done,” he said softly to himself. There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Those with true power were the Oracles. Madame shrugged. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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