The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. “Drugs, mainly. I take it, down where we're going will be nothing new to you. ” “Hah!” He threw his head back. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. And if she was ever found living in the area like that, homeless, John could somehow find out.
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