“I don’t see,” gasped Ann Veronica, “why parents and children. You never saw him before yesterday. ” He dared, his nostrils flaring. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery. 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. Both, perhaps?’ At that, her eyes darkened with fury.
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