You refuse me your confidence. 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. “He couldn’t look me in the face and say it,” said Ann Veronica. " "I will go, if you will consent to meet me at midnight near the old house in Wych Street," replied Jack. "Look at it!" he felt like screaming.
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