She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. "Look quick, Blueskin, and be cursed to you!" was growled in the deep tones of Jonathan Wild.
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