. "Where are the packets committed to your charge by Sir Rowland Trenchard?" "The packets!" exclaimed Kneebone, in alarm. She came in now with an air of reserved solicitude. Mere formality. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. "Something more than whisky did that. My motive in coming hither is to serve you, and save your life. Then the inner door opened abruptly. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed.
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