‘Where was I? Oh yes. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity. 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 do not know how I am like my mother. It is very sweet of you to have waited for me. " "What is it?" "That you give 'em to me.
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