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He kissed her fingers and grinned. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. Stanley’s pace slackened. For whom had its sharp point been intended? Valade? Or perhaps his wife now that the girl had word of their marriage.
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