She had agonized over it for weeks. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. ” “You came—here!” he repeated, vaguely. So was I, in fact. . ” Dessert was served. 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.
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