Mr. Kneebone smiled assent. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. "Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. "There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. Once more he was the searcher. But you must allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my friend.
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