The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. " "Do you happen to know Jonathan Wild, master?" inquired Jack, altering his tone, and assuming a more respectful demeanour. “Anyway, enough about that. I'm an old hand at such things. A woman cannot change her soul. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. Of all the amazing coincidences.
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