Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. It suited him to dampen the spirits of any who sought to impose upon him, as these relics of the loathed family of Valade seemed like to do. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed.
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