He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. "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. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. He had been formally adopted by the Becks at the age of twelve.
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