Her cheeks were aflame. Through that she had to go. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. ’ A derisive snort greeted this passage. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard.
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