"You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. October arrived; and in another week the court would be sitting at the Old Bailey. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house. People always rejoice at the misfortunes of others—never at their own! The droll dogs! how they must have enjoyed it!—ha! ha!" "I dare say they did. But, what is it! What did you promise?" "To offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied Kneebone, falling at her feet.
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