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. She could not bear the shame of it. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. There is no poison that would affect her. ‘And if it was not for that imbecile of a Gérard, who has put his soldiers to watch for me, it would not need that I make it. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone.
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