The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. However, confession of a fault makes half amends for it. " "Do you think so?" replied Kneebone, taking it off, and placing it on her finger, which he took the opportunity of kissing at the same time; "wear it for my sake.
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