“I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. Come along, master. William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone. "Oh!" she gasped. "I've done with you. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss.
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