Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. ’ A peal of laughter came from the girl.
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