"O, lud!" she cried; "French noblemen in disguise! and so rude as I was! I shall never recover it!" "A good supper will set all to rights," insinuated Kneebone. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. She bussed his cheek with her small lips as he stood by the open door, and exited alone towards the sleeping house.
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