“No power on earth will persuade me we’re not two rather disreputable persons. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. "You mean you were just sorry for him?" "As I would be for any human being in pain.
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