William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. “I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away.
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