The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. Lord Charvill’s sense of justice would not, however, allow him to repudiate his granddaughter, if indeed this female proved to be the infant lost to the family so many years ago. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. Kneebone will excuse you. I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind.
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