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How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. "Nothing more than to obtain a favourable answer to my suit," replied Kneebone. What has been the matter?” “Toothache,” he answered laconically. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. So frightful, indeed, were the ravages of this malady, to which debtors and felons were alike exposed, that its miserable victims were frequently carried out by cart-loads, and thrown into a pit in the burial-ground of Christ-church, without ceremony. With an open hand, he slapped her face. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home.
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