‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. "Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not cry out. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. The panel in the bookcase.
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