" "You may rest assured he does not," rejoined Kneebone, emphatically, "but I am at a loss to understand in what way your father proposes to assist him. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. So he decided to stay.
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