But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. “I shot him. When he was concentrating, deep shadows formed under his gray eyes. A faint anticipation of triumph showed in his manner and a subdued excitement. ” The idea struck him as novel.
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