Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. . Why did he care? “I could never marry a girl who’s not a virgin. I can smell you. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. “Until a girl can go away as a son does and earn her independent income, she’s still on a string. Jack instantly sprang to his feet, and as his guards construed the motion into an attempt to escape, several of them drew their swords and motioned to him to sit down.
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