He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. ” Then she looked up at him with frightened eyes. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. "I'll have to set you right on that, too. "Why do you ask?" rejoined the other haughtily.
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