The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. —Sorry to quit your lord—worships, I mean,—I don't know what I mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,—"but I've a few necessary orders to give below. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. "They will kill me, if they find me, as they would have killed my husband and child.
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