She made a step forward. She would not forgive me. ‘How she pouted, and tried to make out that she had been imposed upon. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie.
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