Michelle was laid onto the back seat, her head cradled in Lucy’s lap. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. I have done n-nothing. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked.
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