Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in search. ‘I have told you I will take Jacques. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. And Mother trusted him.
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