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She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. “It’s all right,” he said, reassuringly to the inquirer without. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. "Release her instantly, villain!" Both Winifred and her suitor started at this sudden apparition. But one was clearly the goddess among them, her face hidden, her body seeming to call out to me to possess it at once.
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