"And now, shall we proceed to Queenhithe?" "Stay!" cried the other, taking a chair, "a word with you, Mr. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. ” He did not look at her. The doctor smoked his pipe thoughtfully. ” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull.
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