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. “Never mind me. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. His expression altered. ‘If, in truth, you are a gentleman,’ she said in a trembling tone, ‘you will move to the side that I may leave this room. She was faint from hunger, her head spinning into dizziness, the blood madness readying for battle. Melusine shrugged. The hansom drove off.
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