Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. The young man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obvious attempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. ’ The pathetic sob which accompanied the last word had a signal effect on two of the company at least. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon.
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