" "I'm a doctor. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. "Would I had never seen either of you!" cried Jack, rising and pacing the apartment with a hurried step. The doctor expected her to seize upon the subtle inference that there was something furtive, even criminal, in the manner the patient set this obligation upon humanity at large, to look after him in the event of his death. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains.
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