Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. It was obvious that he had waited for her. But, what is it! What did you promise?" "To offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied Kneebone, falling at her feet. “I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. “They have no plans for us. 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. Would a hundred dollars interest you?" "Very much, if I can earn it without offending my conscience. ” There was a moment’s silence. “The next question, Miss Anna,” he said, “is how am I to help you? I am wholly at your disposal.
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This video was uploaded to southmsnightout.com on 20-07-2024 13:38:51
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