"I didn't carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you. ” She closed her mouth. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. She reloaded. She wormed her way past Sebastian, glanced at her mother’s blackened face, her obscenely naked body bulging with yellow and black buboes under the arms and in the groin that oozed stinking fluid. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. I want to make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor nor ill-winds blow.
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