Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. The simile started a laugh in his throat. "I don't see how I can improve it. ‘More nor that. 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. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house. ” “If you’re a vampire, how can you run around in the daytime?” “There are many myths about us. I can’t forget about your sister. "Where are the boys?" "In the hall. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. You see, aunt, it’s the only possible way for me to get a good degree in my subjects, and father won’t hear of it.
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