Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. . The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. Will you marry me?” Anna looked at him in blank amazement. ’ ‘How do you know?’ Lucilla repeated, almost as sceptical as her intended spouse. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. "If you've done wrong, confess it, and I'll forgive you!" "I don't deserve to be forgiven!" returned Jack, bursting into tears; "for I'm afraid I've done very wrong.
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