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London Bridge had suffered a degree less than most places. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. "This will be very comfortable.
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