For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. “Perhaps for me,” she added,
with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Anna watched her
from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and
disappear. He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of
which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. Can you wonder that I expect
you to fulfil yours?”
“I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion
of his first step. 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. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.
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