"Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly.
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