"Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call.
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