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. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. She will tell you all the story while I am gone.
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