There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. At any rate, he began to deliberately personate him. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds.
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