"Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. “I am sorry,” he said slowly. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. “No, no,” she cried. Wood, "it may be poisoned.
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