The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. Kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door. At least I imagine so, if what Madame Valade claims is true. "Take me, then," replied the widow. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs.
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