There is the key. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Vorsack echoed him. I feel almost inclined to regret the fact. "I have nothing to forgive. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. I deserve pretty much what I’ve got. It isn’t pretty, but we’re made so.
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