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"Would I had never seen either of you!" cried Jack, rising and pacing the apartment with a hurried 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. This became very interesting. They say it hasn't been opened for eight years—but I won't be eight years in getting out of it. When I've placed another skull and another halter beside them, I shall be contented. Wood's house at Dollis Hill on Tuesday'—that's two days ago,—'hasn't been heard of since. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. But, taking the chisel from Blueskin, Jack quickly forced back the bolt. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them.
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