You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. Wood's ear, whispered, "secret agents from France—you understand—friends to the cause—hem!" "I see,—persons of rank!" Mr. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. ‘He destroyed the papers?’ ‘That’s right,’ Roding said, throwing her a glance of frowning surprise, as if he had not rated her intelligence so high. Marines. "Certainly not," replied Gay. Her eyes noted it mercilessly. Nice goings on. ” He took an optimist view of her chances. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. 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.
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