. ’ Amusement flickered in Gerald’s breast. 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. ‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. ‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome. Kentish family. "What in the world is it?" he asked. But get up behind, Blueskin.
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