’ Gerald was staring at her, an arrested expression on his face. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. Were any thing to happen to him, Newgate wouldn't be what it is, nor Tyburn either. He had said so. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites.
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