“But if you weren’t keen on the suffrage business, why on earth did you go to prison?” Ann Veronica reflected. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. "Well, like or not, I'm greatly pleased with it, and must beg it from you as a memorial——" "Of what?" she interrupted, startled by his change of manner. The stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred persons, many of whom carried lanterns and links. "So, the Mohocks have been at work, I perceive," remarked Quilt, as he drew near the group.
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