‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. You know—if you want freedom. Partly, from your confessor; partly, from other sources. "Can you make me other than a condemned felon? Can you make me not Jack Sheppard?" "No," replied Blueskin; "and I wouldn't if I could. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. “Of course, I remember now. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it.
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