"This is strange," said Jack, under his breath. She aimed directly at Rhea’s head. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. See? Nothing really. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. " "Take it," replied Thames.
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