‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. The clock struck half-past ten. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. ” She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging.
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