She drew a breath, and sighed it out. "Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man.
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