‘Come on. “Sir John is not at all that sort. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. ” He took his place by her side, and they talked lightly of London, the shops and people.
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