The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. “I don’t believe there is one. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best.
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