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The watcher's intake of breath was sibilant. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. As it was, the mob went on alternately hooting and huzzaing as the names of Wild and Sheppard were pronounced, while some individuals, bolder than the rest, thrust their faces into the coach-window, and assured Jack that he should never be taken to Tyburn.
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