A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. My only excuse is that I missed my way here, and I am leaving Paris early to-morrow morning. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. Don’t stand gawping, man.
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