"I sha'n't offer any of these to you two," he said; "but I know you won't mind me having an imitation king's peg. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. "So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. At least I can’t talk to them.
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