’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. Not much to his surprise, Jack Kimble shook his head.
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