ToC The ward into which Jack was endeavouring to break was called the Red Room, from the circumstance of its walls having once been painted in that colour; all traces of which had, however, long since disappeared. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Marry, come up! I'll show him what an injured wife can do. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. There were game watermen and game lightermen, heavy horsemen and light horsemen, scuffle-hunters, and long-apron men, lumpers, journeymen coopers, mud-larks, badgers, and ratcatchers—a race of dangerous vermin recently, in a great measure, extirpated by the vigilance of the Thames Police, but at this period flourishing in vast numbers. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. At least for one moment, it was. ‘But you said she was looking for proof.
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