Then she shrugged. But it was very hard to follow. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. “Great dears!” said Capes, as the vehicle passed out of sight. 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. I'll send you word when I catch him.
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