The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. "Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-morrow morning," continued Wild. ‘You knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. "And the rings?" "Ja. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. You’ll end there one day, mark my words.
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