Very soon she would be able to forget it. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. "Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day.
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