Ruth went on to explain. I feel at moments as though I could bolt for it. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. Here I am. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. He said nothing. "You'll pardon an old woman, Miss Enschede," said Sister Prudence; "but where in this world did you get that dress?" Ruth picked up both sides of the skirt and spread it, looking down. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred.
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