She began to weep in long, aching sobs. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. So I fear there's little chance of any one getting it. Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip. “I am so sorry. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. 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. And not a worthy tome in sight. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. Spurling and Marvel.
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