Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. Previously to his descent he had left the nail and spike on the wall, and with these he fastened the blanket to the stone coping.
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