Think, ma’am. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely.
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