“Miss Pellissier is nothing to me except a young lady for whom I have the most profound and respectful admiration. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. 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. Nothing. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. "My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. “John, that is what you say now.
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