Bring the light this way—quick! I cannot decipher the signature. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. After all, why need one look down. Having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, Kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it. She knew that the next time he caught her she would not be able to free herself. The name of his father's murderer is also known to me. "What in the world is it?" he asked. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London.
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