I can’t even make myself care. " Mr. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. . "I can, and will. ’ ‘How could he when he didn’t even handle it himself? Went off, I told you, and left it all to me. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. "Were you present at the time of the robbery?" pursued Jonathan.
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