“I might have muddled for a time. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. "Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes.
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