She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. Perhaps in two or three weeks. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. ’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity.
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