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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. “We have been all this time—Only your queer code of honor—Honor! Once you begin with love you have to see it through. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not. " "Dare not!" echoed the carpenter; "I don't understand you, Joan. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him. "I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time.
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