"Mr. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. There must be ways of getting rid of him. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. Ah! there he stands!" he exclaimed as his eye fell for the first time upon Sir Rowland. It's precisely what such a simpleton would do.
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