He kissed her ardently. I mean I’m not a good specimen of a woman. Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. 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. There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters.
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