"Flying fish. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. "I've been robbed, maltreated, and nearly murdered by Jack Sheppard. And now for the fawney— the ring I mean. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. " "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love.
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