‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. 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. She had started wearing the dresses he bought for her, the white and blue shift he said, “brings out the color in your eyes”. ‘Dieu du ciel, is this a way to have me say yes? If it is that you do not wish to, why do you ask me?’ ‘Ah.
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