“Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked. 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. But if you don't want to get up, maybe three times ten days. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. No fear o' that. It added to the picturesqueness of the Sha-mien night to observe these gaily coloured lanterns dancing hither and yon like June fireflies in a meadow.
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