’ ‘Think Valade will come back here then?’ ‘Melusine thinks so,’ Gerald said, pausing at the top of the stairs. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair. 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 touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. He couldn't be in better hands than those in which he has placed himself. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. "Jonathan Wild, I'll be sworn," said Gay.
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