Sheppard. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. ‘Ah, the tragedy. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. You shall have a house out at Balham or Sydenham, and two servants. " He patted her hand. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being.
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