Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. She looked at him as he fingered a small switch on the side of the helicopter’s door. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. ” “You what?” she repeated incredulously. CHAPTER XII.
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