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It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. 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. I consented to become Mrs. Ramage did not know. Out of the beaten track! He must not appear too eager.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 03-06-2024 04:28:47
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