"My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. She was suddenly grave. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. The Procession to Tyburn. It isn't your duty. The lonely widows of robber barons found him irresistible and he was the guest of many a fine table. William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone. This way, Sir Rowland.
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