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She calmed herself, breathing deeply. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Charcoal. He had, for the most part, been correct.
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