"My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. “But I am at singing-pitch. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. ’ Kimble frowned direfully, staring at the weapon with its gold hilt and decorative pattern down the blade.
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