He went over her features one by one in his mind. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. “Run in now. It's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution. I am Jonathan Wild. She let him have it all, as it was, after all, for the last time.
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