No doubt they've all been rejected; but he couldn't throw them overboard. "I must have dropped it when I took out my note-book. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. 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. The crowding impressions of the previous weeks seemed to run together directly her mind left the chaotic search for employment and came into touch again with a coherent and systematic development of ideas. He probably imagines himself to be a thousand times worse off than he actually is. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud.
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