. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Above her head was an aura of white fire. ‘Then open it quickly. . “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard.
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