” He could feel a small bump where he knew a cavity of smooth flesh should reside. “Look round the table,” she said. IX. 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. Earles threw down his pen with a little exclamation. “Eight, Cavendish Square. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. That’s really why we do them sometimes rather well and get on. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are.
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