Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. He seemed to be thinking hard. His attention drawn, the captain was easily able to make out the pretty features under the feathered hat, and the same dark riding habit the fugitive had worn on that first occasion at Remenham House. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already. In vain did the woollendraper offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. E. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare.
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