"Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. The old aspect of the place was gone.
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