He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid.
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