“Sir John is not at all that sort. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. She kept opening her eyes and looking at it. Having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, Kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months.
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