" "You talk boldly," replied Wild. Certainly not a gentlewoman. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. ‘That’s what comes of disarming yourself. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. Jonathan Wild.
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