’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. Pity you aren’t under my command. “Yes. It is in the lower cupboard. I was afraid that I might be called upon as a witness. Lucy's ears were singing.
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