” “Hampstead didn’t suit Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison remarked. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. " "Cannot?" echoed Jack, a slight smile crossing his features. Courtlaw. In one grave, mind. He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. Murder had become nothing to her.
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