"Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. "I'll see. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. "I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird.
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