"Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. ‘It is nothing. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. But the love of life prevailed over his fears.
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