She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. "I have proofs to the contrary," replied Kneebone.
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