"I do," replied Kneebone. I’ve—dreads. ’ He sighed elaborately. “Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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