A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. But no more of that. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. ‘How much does he know?’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned narrowed eyes on Gerald. Tell me. ‘And if it was not for that imbecile of a Gérard, who has put his soldiers to watch for me, it would not need that I make it.
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