The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. ‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. She colored faintly. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard.
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