"Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried. I should scarcely have known you. “I have heard these things from you before, and you have had my answer. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking.
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