"May I ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious affair about which we were speaking just now?" observed Jackson, turning to the carpenter. "I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. Since she was only seventeen when she had them, she didn’t deal with it very well. A.
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