“Good evening, Dorling,” he said. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in his breast was, that his implacable foe Jonathan Wild had survived the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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