But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. The tears flowed faster. ’ ‘Where, then?’ Melusine asked again. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. ‘I am sorry to hear of your misfortunes. ” “You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend.
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