And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. Soho! boys.
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