He could imagine it even if he could not feel it. His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Still silence everywhere. ‘Can’t have been a common housebreaker, you see,’ Hilary explained to Lucilla, quite unnecessarily. He flipped the television on. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile.
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